Horror
When the Silent Speak
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. On this night, the moon was high; the breeze gave soft, sporadic gusts; and the stars hung unencumbered by clouds. It was, Eleanor had noted, a beautiful summer night. She loved the night—loved the peace, the quiet, and the freedom to dream that it offered—and had been humming to herself as she made her rounds. The village had sat silent for hours—she hadn’t even heard any of the babies cry. Eleanor loved how volunteering for the night watch meant little chores for the day, and how it gave her the privacy and solitude from her siblings that she so craved.
By J. Nicholas Merchen4 years ago in Fiction
In the Woods
"The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window." So the not so old man began, sipping at hot ginger tea, slapping unseen mosquitoes, before elaborating: “The candle flame was blue, shifting as sea waters, bright like Venus at sunrise. The few who witnessed it could not understand what it might have meant.”
By Mark Francis4 years ago in Fiction
The Promise Of A New Life
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. I knew he would come back. That’s why I’ve been watching. This must be him the candle was our sign. None of the other creatures have lit the candle.
By Brenda Gooding4 years ago in Fiction
Trap
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. A flickering light gleamed across the glass, briefly illuminating the reflection of a young slender woman rocking alone in her chair, trapped by own thoughts. A broken mason jar lay beside her, the tacky remnants muddying the interior glass.
By Annika Sandberg4 years ago in Fiction
The MacAbre Cabin
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Pulling up to within view of the cabin, Sheriff Evans sat in the driver seat of the patrol car. A low mist had settled around, the night cold. He could see the candle, it's light dimly glowing beyond to cabin's other windows.
By Michael Lewis4 years ago in Fiction
Lived.
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Or so, he believed it to be abandoned. And, once more, it near beckoned him like a moth to its very flame. Through the blinders of his strawberry hair which tickled his eye’s lashes, he squinted through that bedroom window but could not believe it to be true. For as far as he could recall, the cabin had seemed vacant. He’d lock eyes upon it each night, its bark panels peeking through the density of trees. A fair landmark to track winter or spring, comparing the visibility through density of leaves. His eyes were near drawn to it each dusk. It was almost ritual. Comparing the blandest of details from that night to the last. The moisture of the planks, the fade on the windows, the moss crawling up the lower lengths and creeping along external doors. Very little details would change from the last. In winter there would be snow, sometimes icicles. In summer it would be smothered in leaves. But this night? This night, straying too early to be winter, but too late to be summer, there was a candle.
By Martin S. Wathen4 years ago in Fiction
